


Luck of the Daisies

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Date night just keeps getting interrupted on the <i>Enterprise</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of the Daisies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fringedweller's prompt, originally posted [here](http://izzyfics.livejournal.com/134615.html) to livejournal on 10-24-12.

It started with flowers—he shoved them in her face when her door slid opened and she giggled helplessly into the multicolored daisies interspersed with some other flower she didn't recognize but thought was lovely all the same. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

Christine grinned and motioned him inside. “Are these from Sulu’s collection?” She bustled around her room, trying to find an appropriate container. McCoy paced restlessly, picking up random objects and inspecting them. She hoped he didn't find any dust.

“Yes, but I picked them without his knowledge so he wouldn't ask questions.”

She nodded in acknowledgement of the secrecy although they were headed out on a rather public date. Placing the vase with flowers on the table by her bed, she turned and said, “Ready to go?”

Christine had just taken his gallantly offered arm when the red alert sounded.

McCoy’s resulting curse was less than gentlemanly.

*

They tried again a week later. This time they met at the mess hall rather than tempt fate with the meet-and-greet at Chapel’s quarters again. McCoy still offered his arm as they entered and Christine repressed her grin because she didn't want to ruin her stoic reputation.

(Not that being seen on a date with her commanding officer was any less of a reputation ruiner, but still.)

They’d chosen a small table in the back to eat dinner together: two seats and a scenic window that looked out to the stars. Quite romantic, actually. 

“You would never believe the day I've had,” Christine leaned it to say between bites of a pretty decent chicken substitute and salad. 

“Oh really?” He was eating almost the same meal as her, but she suspected real meat on his plate due to his schmoozing of the kitchen staff. They adored him ever since he’d cooked for them and taught them some of his mother’s famous recipes one day and helped with clean-up. Rumor had it that he could request anything now and at least gain an attempt of what he so desired. 

“Yep. While you were off in oh-so-important meetings with the senior staff, I was stuck treating an outbreak of Andorran flu and training the new medical cadets on the sickbay protocols.”

He paused with a bite of food almost to his mouth to say, “You say that like it’s a complaint, but you adore being in charge.”

“You got that right.” She opened her mouth to say more, but Janice Rand approached their table, looking apologetic. 

“There’s been an explosion on deck seven.”

Chapel put down her fork and stood up, resigned. “And we’re needed in sickbay?”

“Sorry, Chris, but yes. The injuries aren’t too severe, but—“

“We understand,” McCoy said, standing as well. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it briefly before letting it go so they could more easily book it to sickbay. No sirens this time, but Christine still had the sinking sensation that she was missing out on something. 

*

The third, fourth, and fifth times they were interrupted were all random acts of you-shall-not-be-alone-together with no one to blame except maybe Scotty. His experiments were unsafe at best and inflammatory at worst. He was responsible for at least two of their failed dates.

Before the sixth time could occur, Christine decided that they were going about this all wrong.

Instead of waiting for McCoy to finish reports after their shared alpha shift so they could plan out their next attempt at a date, she took off to her quarters after moving so quickly through final shift checks the med tech prepping for beta shift raised his eyebrows at her.

Once there, she changed out of her uniform, threw it in the laundry chute, and replaced it with a yellow sundress with white buttons that she’d picked up a couple years ago back home. It made her think of warm summer days in Louisiana. And mojitos. And McCoy. Not that he’d seen her in it, but whenever she thought of lazy Southern days, she thought of Leonard being all lazy with her on a porch swing. Or in a four-poster bed. Her fantasies of his hands and sun streaming through the windows and losing said sundress so that he could get his hands on her that much better were, well—inflammatory in a much different way than Scotty’s latest attempt at engineering moonshine (or whatever Scots called it).

She sat on her bed for a moment, thinking, crossing her legs. Uncrossing them.

Time for action, Chapel.

*

She pressed the call signal next to the entrance to his quarters and he barked, “Come on in, Jim, it’s open. God knows you never really care if—“

Christine stepped in hesitantly and he stopped, giving her a once over and obviously approving. “You look a picture, Chris.”

“You don’t say a picture of what,” she retorted, but spun around anyway to make her skirt fly up. It was too fitted to do much but make her slightly dizzy, so she recovered by curtseying for him and presenting a single white daisy. “For you, Mr. McCoy.”

He took the flower and drew her in, hugging her tightly. “How long do you think we have until another crisis happens?” he asked against her neck, kissing the bare skin he found there.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Do that again,” she said.

He obliged.

This whole spontaneity thing was awesome.

*

She surfaced a few hours later from an intense nap to find herself sprawled on McCoy’s couch with a shirtless McCoy (mostly) underneath her. He was stroking her hair away from her face and if it was lighter in his room, she was sure there would be one of those rare smiles on his face.

Christine hid her embarrassment with yawn and a muttered, “Sorry.”

“Maybe next time we won’t watch a vid on my couch and I could have you fall asleep in my bed instead.”

She sat up at that and poked him in the ribs. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first, McCoy. I am not easy. In fact there should be flowers.“

“Done.”

“And witty conversation.“

“Done.”

“And a night together without a major catastrophe.”

He considered. Her eyes widened and she cried out, “Wait—“ 

“Done.”

The red alert sounded and this time they both swore.


End file.
